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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629969">The Roses Of No Mans Land</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marblez/pseuds/Marblez'>Marblez</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, World War I</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:35:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marblez/pseuds/Marblez</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>STARTED AS PART OF THE NOVEMBER 2019 CHALLENGE ON ROUGH TRADE. </p><p>Desperate to “do something” with her life Sybil convinces her parents to let her sit the entrance exam for Somerville College, Oxford on the agreement that if she fails to get in she will give up her “foolish dream” and settle into the life expected of her. Surprising everyone, herself included, Sybil passes and leaves the life she had always known for a life of knowledge and learning. And then, in 1914, the whole world changed...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Branson/Sybil Crawley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This will be the fifth canon-divergence story I have written for this particular series.<br/>I'm starting to think I have a bit of a problem. LOL.<br/>This was partially inspired by the life of Vera Brittain and the film 'Testament Of Youth."<br/>Also with this being a Canon-Divergent story I have taken some liberties with the original series to make this story work as I wanted it to so please excuse my rearranging of some events.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I've seen some beautiful flowers,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Grow in life's garden fair,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I've spent some wonderful hours,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Lost in their fragrance rare;</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But I have found another,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Wondrous beyond compare.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>There's a rose that grows on "No Man's Land"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And it's wonderful to see,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Tho' its spray'd with tears, it will live for years,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>In my garden of memory.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's the one red rose the soldier knows,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's the work of the Master's hand;</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mid the War's great curse, Stands the Red Cross Nurse,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She's the rose of "No Man's Land".</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>Out of the heavenly splendour,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Down to the trail of woe,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>God in his mercy has sent her,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Cheering the world below;</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We call her "Rose of Heaven",</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>We've learned to love her so.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>There's a rose that grows on "No Man's Land"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And it's wonderful to see,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Tho' its spray'd with tears, it will live for years,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>In my garden of memory.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's the one red rose the soldier knows,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It's the work of the Master's hand;</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Mid the War's great curse, Stands the Red Cross Nurse,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>She's the rose of "No Man's Land".</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>by Jack Caddigan and James Alexander Brennan</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>THE ROSES OF NO MANS LAND <br/>PROLOGUE </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>Downton Abbey, 1912</strong>
</p>
<p>There had been several times in her relatively short life that Sybil Crawley wished she had been born a boy such as when she had asked to be taught more than just the very basic understanding of mathematics but was told, in no uncertain terms, that such knowledge would be <em>useless</em> to a young woman of her social standing. Or the time when she’d begged to be allowed to give up her piano lessons in favour of spending the time studying history, something which had always fascinated her, or geography for she longed to travel and see the world.</p>
<p>She had been informed, rather coldly she’d thought at the time, that she should put aside her <em>childish whims</em> and focus on learning the suitable nuances and skills required to secure her an advantageous marriage.</p>
<p>As though that were the most important thing she would do with her life.</p>
<p>Neither of her sisters understood her thirst for knowledge, content to spend their days singing and dancing, reciting poetry in French or passages from classic literature in German whilst she, the youngest of the Crawley sisters, was champing at the bit for <em>more</em>.</p>
<p>So she had begun stealing books from her father’s library, resolved that if no one would teach her all that she wanted to know then she would teach herself; following an entire day dedicated to practicing how to walk with a book balanced on her head, supposedly to aid her in appearing <em>as graceful as a swan</em>, Sybil had secluded herself in her bedroom with <em>A History of the Romans Under the Empire Vol. III</em> to learn about a time long forgotten. A morning spent learning the required levels of etiquette for dining with those below her station, of her station and above her station was followed by an afternoon hiding from the world as she strolled in the gardens reading aloud the most famous love story ever written,</p>
<p>
  <em>“Two households, both alone in dignity<br/>In fair Verona, where we lay our scene<br/>From ancient grudge break to new mutiny<br/>Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.<br/>From forth the fatal loins of these two foes<br/>A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life<br/>Whose misadventures piteous overthrows<br/>Do with their death bury their parents’ strife.”</em>
</p>
<p>It had gone on like this for years, Sybil educating herself in secret.</p>
<p>And then, in the wake of the loss of her cousin Patrick and just prior to the arrival of her cousin Matthew, the new heir to the family estate, she had discovered <em>Somerville College. </em></p>
<p>In June 1878 the <em>Association for the Higher Education of Women</em> had been formed, aiming for the eventual creation of a college for women in Oxford and had boasted amongst it’s members George Granville Bradley, Master of <em>University College</em>, T. H. Green, a prominent liberal philosopher and Fellow of <em>Balliol College</em>, and Edward Stuart Talbot, Warden of <em>Keble College</em>. Talbot had insisted on a specifically Anglican institution, which was unacceptable to most of the other members and so the two parties had eventually split. <em>Somerville College</em> had opened its doors for students in 1879 and in the same year Talbot’s group, known as the <em>Christ Church camp</em>, had opened their own ladies college, <em>Lady Margaret Hall. </em></p>
<p>It was <em>Somerville</em> that had caught Sybil’s eye, however, as it had earned itself the reputation of being <em>“an eccentric and somewhat alarming institution”</em> due to the fact that as well as being solely for the purpose of giving women the higher education that they deserved it was also a non-denominational institution which meant that the college would accept anyone that successfully passed the entrance exam, no matter what religion they followed. </p>
<p>When it had opened <em>Somerville Hall</em>, as it had then been known, had only twelve students ranging in age between seventeen and thirty-six. The first twenty-one students from <em>Somerville</em> and <em>Lady Margaret Hall </em>had attended lectures in rooms above a baker's shop on <em>Little Clarendon Street</em> and only two of the original twelve students admitted in 1879 had remained in Oxford for three years, the period of residence required for male students to complete a bachelor's degree. Despite the unorthodox circumstance of their early years with the admission of more students the college had become more formalised.</p>
<p><em>Somerville</em> had appointed its first in-house tutor in 1892 and, by the end of the 1890s, female students were permitted to attend lectures in almost all colleges. In 1891 it had become the first women's hall to introduce entrance exams and in 1894 the first of the five women's halls of residence to adopt the title of college, changing its name to <em>Somerville College</em>, the first of them to appoint its own teaching staff, and the first to build a library.</p>
<p>Sybil ached to loose herself in their extensive library.</p>
<p><em>Somerville College</em> had quickly became known as the <em>“bluestocking college”</em>, its excellent examination results refuting the widespread belief that women were incapable of high academic achievement, and those who attended the college were called <em>“bluestockings.”</em></p>
<p>Determination filled her, thrumming through her with every beat of her heart.</p>
<p>She <em>would</em> get the education she had always desired, the one she <em>deserved</em>.</p>
<p>She didn’t care how long it took or how hard she had to study or how difficult it would be to convince her family to let her go; from that moment on she was bound and determined to attend the well-respected ladies college.</p>
<p>It wasn’t easy, once she had managed to get a list of the requirements sent to her by the college shortly after their 1912 term had begun, not that she had been expecting it to be.</p>
<p>Latin wasn’t something had ever taken a particular interest in other than to understand some of the phrases quoted in the histories of Ancient Rome she had always enjoyed.</p>
<p>Crafting an entrance essay in the dead language was something entirely different.</p>
<p>There had only been one book regarding the subject in her fathers library and so Sybil had been forced to order what she needed, waiting impatiently for them to arrive. No one had questioned her ordering a few books, given that they knew she loved to read, and it could hardly be her fault if they all assumed that they were nothing more than frivolous novels.</p>
<p>Despite having a good grasp of French and German, far more so than her Governess had intended, teaching herself Latin was one of the greatest challenges she had ever faced.</p>
<p>With the deadline for the 1913 applications fast approaching Sybil pulled out all the stops, filling in the required paperwork and fashioning what she believe to be a decent enough essay on the <em>importance of higher education in young women regardless of their social standing</em>, focusing on how such a thing would change the future of her sex and improve their lives. Her inspiration had been Gwen, the young housemaid who she had recently begun to help look for a secretarial post after learning that the young woman had taken a postal course in shorthand and typing in the hopes of leaving service, and the housemaids plight had featured heavily throughout her essay with a particular focus on the fact that if Gwen had received the proper education to begin with she would never have had to enter service at all and could have already been a successful secretary for a number of years.</p>
<p>Checking everything through one last time, hoping to catch any mistakes she’d made, she walked into the village to visit the Post Office without her parents being made aware. She purchased a large envelope, carefully wrote the address of the college on the front and then paid for the correct postage at the desk, affixing the stamp herself before handing it over.</p>
<p>And then it was gone, her application sent and there was nothing to do but wait.</p>
<p>
  <strong>~ * ~</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>THE ROSES OF NO MANS LAND <br/>CHAPTER ONE</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Somerville College, October 1914 </strong>
</p><p>It was something akin to torture to be stuck inside on such a beautifully bright day but sadly her essay would not write itself and so, rather than going for a walk as she longed to do, she had moved her writing desk underneath the small window in her bedroom and had used a variety of objects to weigh down the various sheets of paper so that she could have it open.</p><p>Over the noise of the street, feet pounding, people talking and cars passing back and forth, she could hear birds singing as they soared on the autumn breeze relishing their freedom.</p><p>When she’d first come to Oxford she had been overwhelmed by the noise, worse even than the noise around their house in London somehow, but then she’d discovered the birds song.</p><p>Such a simple thing, the sound of birds singing, but it was a bit of home for her to listen to.</p><p>Different birds, yes, but similar enough to remind her of home.</p><p>Her parents still didn’t understand her desire to attend <em>Somerville College</em>, particularly not her father, but it had been her grandmother of all people who had saved her dreams of an education after her the letter inviting her to sit the entrance exam had been discovered on the floor of the library after it had slipped out of her pocket. The discovery had prompted the worst argument Sybil could ever remember getting into with her family, every one of them against her, and it had only been the sudden arrival of her beloved grandmother that had saved her from saying or doing something she couldn’t take back. It wasn’t that her grandmother agreed or even understood her dreams of gaining a higher level of education.</p><p>No, it was the fact that she had been the only one to suggest an ultimatum.</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, let her sit the entrance exam.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mama!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t Mama me, Robert, until you hear what I have to say. Sybil should be allowed to sit the entrance exam under the agreement that should she fail she will say no more about it.”</em>
</p><p>They’d agreed, eventually, as they clearly expected her to fail.</p><p>Only she hadn’t.</p><p>Her mother had accompanied her to Oxford the day of the exam, insisting that Sybil couldn’t travel alone, and had spent the entire journey trying to dissuade her youngest daughter. In fact it had only been the sympathetic looks and reassuring smiles that Tom Branson, her families chauffeur, kept shooting her in the rear-view mirror that kept her from screaming.</p><p>He had given her the confidence she needed to hold her head up high, to bite her tongue.</p><p>Her heart had plummeted during the examination which had proven to be much harder than she had been anticipating, particularly the Latin essay, but she had done her best.</p><p>Despondently she had explained in her conclusion that she had done her best to educate herself in the difficult language after learning that it was a requirement and apologised for any mistakes she had made. It was only the fact that several of the other young woman wore expressions similar to her own as they exited the room, expressions of hopelessness, regret and disappointment, that gave her the boost she needed to meet her mother’s frown with a bright smile which had successfully concealed all of the worry she had been feeling.</p><p>
  <em>“How did it go darling?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fine, I think, although I won’t know for sure until the letter comes.”</em>
</p><p>Hiding her true feelings about the exam had been difficult but she’d known that if her family had seen how worried she really was then they would’ve started to believe they were right.</p><p>Smiling to herself Sybil looked away from the blue sky, placed her pen down on the wooden desk and retrieved the slightly crumpled envelope from the desks drawer. Opening it up she took out the letter she had kept close by ever since the morning it had arrived at the Abbey.</p><p>
  <em>“There’s a letter for you, Lady Sybil.”</em>
</p><p>It had been during breakfast and around her everyone had frozen, watching as she accepted the crisp envelope from the tray Carson had extended to her, watching as she carefully used the letter opener to slice it open so that she could retrieve its contents. She’d read it quickly to begin with, soaking in the words of congratulation, before turning to smile at her family.</p><p>
  <em>“I got in!” </em>
</p><p>Just looking at the letter now brought a smile to her lips.</p><p>That had been the moment that her life had truly begun to change for the better.</p><p>Things had become unpleasantly tense for a couple of days, her parents disapproval of her actions and their annoyance that the ultimatum had failed to play out how they expected painfully obvious. The arrival of the Turkish dignitary and his subsequent death, tragic as it had been, had been something of a blessing for Sybil as her “troublemaking” had been all but forgotten about until suddenly it had been time for her to begin packing her things.</p><p>
  <em>“You should take one evening gown, at least; you never know what might happen.”</em>
</p><p>She hadn’t wanted to but, in effort of keeping the peace with her sisters she had agreed to pack two evenings gowns, both of which she had worn to social events held by the colleges.</p><p>This year when she had returned to the college after the summer she had brought four.</p><p>Originally her mother had intended to accompany her to Oxford again, to make sure that the accommodation provided by the college was suitable. However, much to Sybil’s relief, something had come up at the last minute which had forced her mother to stay at home.</p><p>
  <em>“I’m so sorry, my darling; if someone else could deal with this I would…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mama, it’s fine. I promise.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve given Branson strict instructions to make sure that you have suitable accommodation and to ensure that you’re properly settled in before he begins his return journey, alright?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mama, that’s not necessary…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Of course it’s necessary. I won’t have you living in some hovel, Sybil.”</em>
</p><p>Looking about her Sybil couldn’t hold back a light chuckle at the sight of the small bedroom, a room which was tuck away between the eaves on the attic floor of the building. It was an odd shape as a result of its location, with uneven walls and a sloped ceiling on one side, and it was barely big enough to fit the two beds on either side of the room let alone the large wardrobe which Sybil and her roommate shared. The writing desks, small though they were, only added to the claustrophobic feeling of the room. The walls and floor were made of the same dark wood meaning that the small room felt even smaller and there was no electricity so their only sources of light were the small window during the day and candles at night.</p><p>Her mother would have hated it on sight, would probably have refused to let her stay there.</p><p>As such her parents would never be allowed to visit and Branson had been sworn to secrecy.</p><p>Sybil had loved it from the moment she had first laid eyes upon it, although she would admit she’d love it a little more if it was just a fraction bigger, and the addition of a few items from her bedroom back at the Abbey had been all that was needed to make it feel like her home.</p><p>A rug, soft under her bare or stockinged feet, which covered almost the entire gap between the two beds, a gilded photo frame containing a recent family portrait which she had placed on her writing desk as there wasn’t enough room for a bedside table, her soft eiderdown, a couple of silk throws and her favourite vase which she kept full of flowers on the windowsill.</p><p>Ada, her roommate and close friend, had brought her own knick-knacks as she’d called them to brighten up the room and so between them the room had been completely transformed.</p><p>Neither of them had known quite what to expect from their roommates a year ago.</p><p>To begin with it had seemed as though they would have very little in common, Sybil coming from an aristocratic family and a somewhat sheltered lifestyle whilst Ada came from what she herself deemed to be an upper middle class family of shopkeepers and businessmen.</p><p>A couple of days had passed before they found that they shared very similar opinions on the future of women, their right to vote and the importance of receiving a thorough education.</p><p>
  <em>“…I was worried you were only here to find a husband or something…”</em>
</p><p>Ada’s apologetic confession had brought tears of laughter to her eyes.</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve been reliably informed by almost my entire family that furthering my education will in fact drive eligible suitors away from me as no one is interested in a woman with an opinion.”</em>
</p><p>They had bonded then and there over the ridiculousness of such a statement.</p><p>Their friendship had continued to grow ever since, Sybil even spending the Autumn break with Ada and her rather traditionally minded family in their country house in Devonshire.</p><p>It had only been during this visit that Sybil had discovered her friend had something of a sweetheart, or rather that there was a young man she was particularly fond of. His name was Richard Forester and, like Ada’s older brother Edward, was a military man. As Ada explained it the two of them, together with the painfully shy Hector Truelove, had been as thick as thieves throughout their school days and had decided to enter the <em>Royal Military College, Sandhurst </em>together. Hector, unfortunately, hadn’t passed the medical exam and so had decided to read the classics at Oxford whilst Richard and Edward had worked hard to become fresh-faced young officers in the British Army. At the time of her first visit their careers had been a source of pride for the family; now, with war having been so recently declared and both Richard and Edward having been sent to France with the <em>First Battalion of the Devonshire Regiment,</em> it was a constant source of worry, particularly for poor Ada.</p><p>They wrote as often as they could, to both Ada and Sybil who they had welcomed into their circle with open arms, keeping them both updated on what was happening over in France.</p><p>The <em>1<sup>st</sup> Devons </em>had left Jersey, where they had been stationed since 1911, on 21<sup>st</sup> August 1914 and had been sent to Le Havre where they’d been reinforced by nearly five hundred reservists from Exeter. Both Richard and Edward had been excited by the prospect of the war ahead of them, eager to see some action as they <em>put the greedy Hun back in their place. </em></p><p>It hadn’t taken long for the boyishness to vanish from their letters.</p><p>During their first spell on the line they had suffered one hundred casualties from shelling.</p><p>Neither of her parents quite knew what to make of the friendships she had made, her father concerned about her closeness to young men to whom she <em>hadn’t been properly introduced to under suitable circumstances </em>whilst her mother was mostly concerned with the “radical sympathies” which she had been exposed to. Smiling to herself Sybil brought her hand up to run her fingertips across the delicate brooch she’d spent a rather substantial amount of her monthly allowance on when she had decided to celebrate her and Ada’s joining the Suffrage movement. She had only intended to get a simple brooch such as the one that Ada herself had chosen but she had been utterly captivated by the piece of jewellery the first moment she’d laid eyes upon it in the shop; it was a bar brooch, 60mm long and 5mm wide, and was set with four freshwater pearls, two square cut amethysts and a central peridot. The colours were important to any Suffragette. The green peridot stood for <em>Give</em>, the white pearls stood for <em>Women</em> and the purple amethysts stood for <em>Votes! </em>A fashionable piece of jewellery that to those in the know was a clear statement of what she and the people like her believed in.</p><p>None of her family had realised what the brooch represented when they’d first seen it.</p><p>Only Branson had recognised it for what it was as he’d driven her home for Christmas.</p><p>
  <em>“Votes For Women, Lady Sybil?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“…is that approval I hear in your voice, Branson?”</em>
</p><p>It had been, he had confirmed with a rather handsome smirk, and they’d gone on to spend the rest of the journey in pleasant, if sometimes rather unsuitably passionate, conversation about the Suffragette cause and then had moved on to politics. He had strong beliefs about Ireland, understandably so, and her eyes had been opened to the truth of the situation due to the fact that he had lived through some of the events she had previously only read about.</p><p>He was also a socialist and, upon returning to the college following the winter break, she’d looked into socialism so as to better understand his political beliefs. Socialism was, she had learned, a political and economic theory of social organization which advocates that the means of production, distribution, and exchange should be owned or regulated by the community as a whole. Given his background and position she could understand why such a policy would appeal to him although she couldn’t understand how it would actually work.</p><p>Since that journey they had spent every one since deep in conversation, sometimes about politics, sometimes about her education, sometimes about their friends and families, and through these conversations she had gained another friend. This one her parents could <em>never </em>know about for they would never allow their friendship to continue, especially as she had just recently begun to find herself tormented by thoughts of a more romantic nature.</p><p>Not that anything of that nature could ever occur between them…</p><p>A thundering of footsteps announced Ada’s arrival, the narrow wooden staircase which led to their floor one of the loudest Sybil had ever encountered, and so she turned to greet her.</p><p>The look on her friends face was enough to wipe the smile from her own.</p><p>“Edward has been wounded,” Ada blurted out, looking down at the letter she clutched in her hand. “He’s in a field hospital, says he was lucky not to be killed, that they’ve lost…the damn sensors had a field day but it must be a significant number for them to cut it out…”</p><p>Neither of them could know but the <em>1<sup>st</sup> Devons </em>had lost two thirds of their officers and a third of their men during a bitter battle which had lasted for three weeks. They’d joined the badly mauled <em>1<sup>st</sup> Dorsets </em>on the <em>La Bessee Canal </em>and had helped to capture <em>Givenchy Ridge.</em></p><p>“I’ve had nothing from Richard,” Ada continued, tears pooling in her eyes. “Oh, Sybil…”</p><p>“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sybil cried out, jumping up from her seat so that she could hurry across to her friend, taking the taller woman into her arms. “Edward would have told you if he’d…”</p><p>Ada nodded against her shoulder.</p><p>“I know he would have but…” she side, pulling away from the comfort Sybil was offering her so that she could wipe the tears from her eyes. “I can’t help but worry about him, about them. I feel…I feel so <em>useless </em>here…I mean what is the point of learning about Shakespeare and Homer and all the rest when my brother and my fia…my sweetheart are suffering?”</p><p>The slip of the tongue didn’t go unnoticed.</p><p>“…Ada, are you and Richard engaged?”</p><p>“Yes,” Ada confirmed at length, a small smile appearing on her face. Even with her eyes red from crying she was still one of the most beautiful women Sybil knew, with her blonde hair and blue eyes, her lightly freckled skin, her willowy figures and dazzling smile. “He proposed just before they left for France, during his last spot of leave, actually. We haven’t told either of our families, though, so please don’t tell anyone. We want to wait until…well, just until…”</p><p>“I understand,” Sybil murmured, taking her friends hands in her own, giving them a squeeze. A glance at Ada’s left hand confirmed the absence of a ring. “I’m so pleased for you. Truly.”</p><p>“Thank you, Sybil,” her friend murmured, squeezing back before reaching up to pull at the chain around her neck, lifting it up to reveal the ring that was hanging from it. “He couldn’t ask for his mother’s engagement ring without giving everything away so he proposed with his signet ring. It doesn’t fit me, it’s far too large even for my thumb, so I wear it like this.”</p><p>“How romantic…”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose so,” Ada sighed, tracing the family crest etched onto the ring. As well as being a military family the Foresters were members of the Peerage. His father was the Baron of Trewlyn, making Richard an <em>Honourable</em>. It placed him below Sybil in terms of society but above Ada so their engagement would undoubtedly cause a bit of a stir. “I…I guess what I was trying to say is that…is that I don’t think I can stay here much longer...”</p><p>Sybil frowned.</p><p>“You want to leave <em>Somerville?</em>”</p><p>“Temporarily,” Ada hurried to explain. “Just for the duration of the war.”</p><p>Sybil’s frown deepened, her confusion evident.</p><p>“I want to become a nurse.”</p><p>And suddenly it was as though a light had been switched on for Sybil.</p><p>Her education was important, yes, but the idea of being in a position to actually <em>help </em>men like Richard and Edward…well…that was worth putting her education on hold for a while.</p><p>Wasn’t it?</p><p>Her parents would hate it, of course, probably more so than they hate her being at college.</p><p>But with every new casualty list that was posted in the newspaper something had burned deep within her, something that until now she hadn’t been able to identify; a need to help.</p><p>“…Sybil?”</p><p>Her gaze focused, meeting that of her friend, and she offered Ada a broad smile.</p><p>“I think we are going to make excellent nurses.”</p><p>“…<em>we</em>?”</p><p>Sybil nodded emphatically.</p><p>“We.”</p><p>~ * ~</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>THE ROSES OF NO MANS LAND </strong><br/>CHAPTER TWO<br/>Boulogne, France, 1915 </p><p>“Come on, Sybil!” Ada urged her friend, calling back over her shoulder as she hurried down the wooden gangplank after the handsome young sailor who’d offered to carry her luggage off of the ferry for her. “Get a move on or they’ll leave without us and we’ll get in trouble!”</p><p>In spite of the seriousness of the situation, something which had been impressed upon them during their brief training period at one of the many hospitals converted to military use, her friend had spent the entire journey across the channel practically vibrating with excitement as she repeated over and over again how wonderful it would feel to finally be able to put the various skills they had been taught to good use, to feel as though they were really doing something for the <em>brave boys</em>. Sybil, along with the other nurses they’d met during the ferry crossing, had been no less excited but had managed to behave with slightly more decorum.</p><p>“I’m coming,” Sybil called out, tucking the strap of her handbag into the crook of her elbow so that it would be in the way as she picked up both of her suitcases and began to carefully follow her friend down the unsteady plank of wood. A sailor was waiting at the bottom, his foot resting on the plank to keep it from slipping too much, and he offered her a smile of encouragement as she finally stepped foot onto solid ground. “Where do we need to go?”</p><p>“I can see a group of women our age with suitcases,” Ada responded, thanking the young sailor as she took her large suitcase from him, causing him to blush rather alarmingly under her attention. Whilst Ada had crammed everything she needed into one large suitcase Sybil had split her things into two, one of medium size and one which was a little bit smaller, in an effort to distribute the weight a little bit. It had been Anna’s suggestion, given after her parents had finally agreed to sign the paperwork allowing her to serve in France after some less-than-gentle nudging from the Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley, and as she watched Ada and most of the other girls struggling with their heavy cases she was grateful. “Hello!”</p><p>Her greeting was returned by almost all of the young women they had just joined, those that didn’t being the ones who still looked rather unwell following the journey. It hadn’t been a particularly rough crossing, or so Sybil had thought, but it hadn’t exactly been the smoothest journey either. She suspected that most of the other nurses had never set foot on a boat before and so hadn’t been prepared for the slow, rolling gate despite the ferries relatively small size. Sybil, who had travelled to France a couple of times with her parents when she was younger and on one memorable occasion had been forced to remain in their cabin for the duration of a rather terrifying storm, had had no problems with the crossing.</p><p>“Can you believe we’re finally here?”</p><p>This question, filled with excitement, came not from Ada but from the shortest member of their group. She was so short, in fact, that she barely reached Sybil’s shoulder. There was also a gentle sort of plumpness to her, particularly around her face where the size and angle of her hat only made it more obvious, and her blonde hair was rather alarmingly windswept.</p><p>“Everyone at home is thrilled,” she continued brightly, her broad smile revealing a sizeable gap between her front teeth. “Even Papa and he’s always said that war is a man’s business.”</p><p>Had they not been interrupted by the sudden arrival of a gruff looking soldier they would have entered into a conversation about how each of their parents had reacted to their decisions. As it was they fell silent as he brandished a clipboard with noticeable authority.</p><p>“Ayers. Blount. Blundell. Davis. Parker. And Rees. Follow me to your transport.”</p><p>Those named hurried to obey his command.</p><p>“The rest of you wait here.”</p><p>They were gone before any of those who hadn’t been named could respond.</p><p>“I guess we’ll just wait here, then...”</p><p>“Ada!” Sybil scolded her friend lightly even as all bar one of the other girls let out a series of giggles in response to Ada’s sarcastic comment, paired with a bright smirk. “I hardly think…”</p><p>“Well, he wasn’t exactly polite, was he?”</p><p>“He’s a soldier,” Sybil pointed out. “I don’t think politeness is a requirement during war.”</p><p>“Still…” Ada pouted before turning more to face the small group. “I suppose we should introduce ourselves properly whilst we’ve got the time. Ada Miller, nice to meet you all.”</p><p>“Agnes Grey,” the short young woman who had spoken earlier introduced herself warmly, all but bouncing in place. “I was so worried I wouldn’t get on with anyone. I can be a bit too outspoken, you see, and my mother says that some people can find it rather annoying. The problem is I always have so much to say. Well, that and I do so hate the sound of silence.”</p><p>Sybil found herself growing more endeared towards her with every passing moment.</p><p>“I think it comes from growing up by the shipyard where it is never quiet.”</p><p>“The shipyard?”</p><p>“Yes,” Agnes confirmed readily. “My father made his fortune building the fastest ships.”</p><p>“I don’t suppose he made that ferry then,” the tallest amongst their group commented dryly. “I don’t think I’ve ever travelled so slowly in my life. Edith Thurlow. A pleasure.”</p><p>“No, he certainly didn’t build that old thing,” Agnes giggled, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she glanced back at the ferry loading up for the return journey. “We tend to deal mostly in luxury yachts and private motor boats although we have done a couple of passenger liners.”</p><p>Ada nudged her in her ribs, gesturing with her chin for Sybil to introduce herself.</p><p>“Sybil Crawley. It’s nice to meet all of you.”</p><p>Only Edith showed any sign of recognising her surname, her eyes widening briefly before settling into a confused frown. Thankfully, though, she said nothing about Sybil’s family.</p><p>“Susan,” the final member of their group offered up reluctantly, tucking a wayward lock of her auburn hair behind her ear before tugging the creases out of her coat. “Susan Withers.”</p><p>“So how did you come to hear about…”</p><p>The return of the gruff looking soldier cut off Agnes’ attempt at furthering the conversation.</p><p>“Crawley. Grey. Miller. Thurlow. Withers.”</p><p>He barely gave them enough to nod after their own names before he was turning away.</p><p>“Follow me. Keep your papers with you at all times. Do not put down your luggage,” he recited as he strode through the crowds, leading the five young women away from the quayside. “Do not let go of anything you value or I guaranteed you’ll never see it again.”</p><p>As one the five nurses glanced nervously at the people they were passing by, suddenly seeing a potential thief in every single face now that he had pointed out the possibility.</p><p>Eventually they came upon a rather flimsy looking military truck, the canvas roof rolled back to expose the metal frame, with a couple of stretcher bearers already sitting in the back. A third man was leaning against the cab smoking a cigarette, his fingers badly tobacco stained.</p><p>“Your transport.”</p><p>After a nod from the soldier leading their group the stretcher bearers jumped down to help the nurses put their suitcases into the truck before climbing up into the back of the vehicle.</p><p>“Where are we going?”</p><p>“Hospital 25A,” the driver answered Ada’s query as he stubbed put his cigarette before tucking what remained into his pocket. “Not far from the Front. I hope you like it lively.”</p><p>A somewhat concerned silence fell over the nurses as the tailgate was raised and secured in place only moments before the vehicles engine rattled to life and, with a painful judder, the truck began to move and the next leg of their journey began. They were bounced around in the uncomfortable vehicle, barely holding onto their hats with one hand and the planks of wood that were intended to function as seats with the other, until hours later they arrived.</p><p>There were tents as far as the eye could see; small round tents, long rectangular tents, tall green tents. Between the tents there were a few wooden huts, all of them bearing the tell-tale signs that they had been put up in haste and would soon be in need of repairs. As they were helped down from the back of the truck they found themselves standing in front of a littler fenced off area filled with a rather surprising amount of flowers at the centre of which stood the camps flag pole. Each of them paused to look up at the Union Flag fluttering in the breeze for a moment before their attention was drawn to the middle-aged woman making her way over to them dressed in the familiar uniform of a Sister. Her beautiful scarlet cape bore both the medal ribbon for the campaign in India, meaning that she had seen the brutal consequences of war before, and the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Medal.</p><p>Her smile, thankfully, was welcoming.</p><p>“Here at last!” she exclaimed upon reaching them. “Sister Pendleton.”</p><p>Quite surprisingly she had a thick Northern accent, one that might had been called common.</p><p>Not at all what they were expecting from a Military Nursing Sister.</p><p>“Now, let's get you settled in. Follow me.”</p><p>As they obediently followed her through the maze of tents, traversing first across gravel, then woodchips and then finally some wooden planks laid out over large patches of mud, Sybil couldn’t help but long for a map of the hospital to aid her in getting her bearings.</p><p>Finally they walked single file along the narrowest plank yet in order to pass through a small copse of trees, emerging in a little clearing filled with white bell tents linked by more planks.</p><p>“I imagine it's a little different from what you're used to…”</p><p>Sybil held back a grimace as they were led towards one of the tents towards the back of the group, the flap being carefully pulled back to reveal that all five of them were expected to fit inside of a single tent; five painfully narrow cots made out of wood and green canvas had been placed inside in the only pattern that would allow all of them to fit. At least two of the cots were in such a position that their occupants would need to <em>climb over </em>the other cots in order to reach them which promised to be interesting. On each bed was a single pillow, a rolled up eiderdown and a small pile of crisp white linen; two bedsheets and a pillowcase.</p><p>She wasn’t the only one who appeared to be less than impressed by their accommodation.</p><p>Finally Susan spoke up hesitantly, her voice filled with concern,</p><p>“Sister, where are the…um…the conveniences?”</p><p>“There are chamber pots under the beds,” Sister Pendleton responded apologetically, nodding to the items in question. Sybil had <em>never </em>used a chamber pot in her life, the bathrooms having been installed in the Abbey before she was born. “It’s the best we can offer at the moment, I’m afraid; private latrines for the nurses and VAD’s weren’t a priority when they were setting up the hospital and now it’s finding the right location for them.”</p><p>“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Sister,” Sybil found herself offering even though the very thought of using one of the china bowls made her skin feel clammy. “We’re not here for a holiday.”</p><p>Sister Pendleton offered her a relieved smile.</p><p>“You’ve got half-an-hour to get yourselves settled in and changed into your uniforms,” she informed them. “I shall meet you at the flagpole and take you to see Matron Fitsimmons.”</p><p>As soon as the Sister had slipped out of the tent, leaving the five VAD’s to unpack their things as best they could under the circumstances, Susan hurriedly moved to place her suitcase on the only makeshift bed which wouldn’t have to be climbed over or require climbing to reach it. She then dropped down to sit beside her case like a naughty child.</p><p>No one said anything for a moment before Agnus piped up,</p><p>“I’ll take the furthest bed on the left if you’d like?”</p><p>Before the others could respond she moved, just about managing to squeeze herself around the top of the bed that was between them and the bed she intended to take. There was just enough room between the top of the bed and the bed on the far side of the single tent pole in the centre of the circular room for her to get through and only then when she lifted her skirts up above her knees; the fabric would have gotten caught and it would’ve ended badly.</p><p>“Then I’ll take this one,” Edith murmured, placing her case on the one that Agnes had just made her way around. The canvas sagged worryingly under the weight. “If that’s alright?”</p><p>“I don’t mind having the other awkward bed,” Sybil offered, offering Ada a cheeky smile. “After all, you can sleep through anything so I shouldn’t wake you up climbing over you.”</p><p>Ada huffed for a moment before giggling and nodding in agreement.</p><p>She really could sleep through anything.</p><p>“I suppose we shall have to live out of our suitcases,” Edith muttered as she began to open hers, retrieving her uniform and smoothing out the creases. “Or acquire some furniture…”</p><p>All of them agreed and set about changing into their uniforms, helping each other to pin that crisp white nurses caps in place after they realised that their tent was also missing a mirror, and stowed their cases underneath their cots which they then carefully made up.</p><p>The cots were so low, they discovered, that the eiderdowns trailed on the floor unless they were folded in half. There was also no way of tucking the bottom sheet in and so it too hung to the ground, which was covered in a thick rug which wouldn’t have looked out of place in her families library, and so they were forced to place the corners under the cots beds so as to keep the sheets in place on the makeshift beds. All of them had brought something from home with them, squeezed into their suitcases alongside the various items of their uniforms and the other clothes they were allowed to bring; a blanket or a pillowcase or in Agnes’ case a worn teddy bear. Sybil had brought the same delicate silk throws she had taken to college.</p><p>“I suppose we should head out; we don’t want to be late for our first meeting with Matron.”</p><p>Sister Pendleton was waiting for them at the flagpole, as promised, and offered them another warm smile before leading them across to one of the wooden huts. Inside they found an older woman who, as well as wearing the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Medal, wore the ribbon for the Distinguished India Service Medal on her cape.</p><p>This was no ordinary Matron, Sybil quickly realised; this was a tough woman.</p><p>She was older than Sister Pendleton by a good ten years, her hair almost completely grey, and wore a neutral expression which closely resembled a scowl as the five young woman lined up in front of her. Sybil held herself perfectly still as she and her fellow VAD’s were inspected from head to toe, each of them receiving a brief frown for something or other.</p><p>In Sybil’s case it had something to do with the collar of her uniform.</p><p>After a long moment the Matron picked up a clipboard from her desk.</p><p>“Sybil Crawley.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>A brief pause and then,</p><p>“Your collar is twisted. I would advise you fix it.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron,” Sybil murmured, hands moving to do so. “Thank you, Matron.”</p><p>“Agnes Grey.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>“Three inches of your petticoat is showing at the back of your uniform.”</p><p>“Oh!” Agnes gasped, twisting around to see for herself before fixing it. “Thank you, Matron.”</p><p>“Ada Miller.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>“You're wearing scent.”</p><p>Unlike the previous two corrections this time there was a coldness in her voice.</p><p>Ada blinked, almost taking a step back in shock as she protested,</p><p>“I'm not, Matron.”</p><p>“Were you not taught the rules concerning conduct and deportment?”</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>“But you don't think they apply to you?”</p><p>“No, Matron, of course they do,” Ada answered. “But I’m not wearing scent, I promise.”</p><p>Matron Fitsimmons made a large show of leaning towards Ada and sniffing loudly.</p><p>“…then why can I smell lavender?”</p><p>It took Ada a moment to answer, letting out a soft gasp of realisation.</p><p>“I use lavender scented soap,” she explained, bringing her hands up to smell them. “I used it whilst we were on the boat over. I’m sorry, Matron, I assumed it would have faded by now.”</p><p>“I see,” Matron Fitsimmons hummed, processing the earnest explanation. “Please ensure that you wash your hands thoroughly with unscented soap at the earliest opportunity.”</p><p>“I will, Matron.”</p><p>Nodding her head in approval the Matron moved on to her next victim.</p><p>“Edith Thurlow.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>“Your hair needs to be in a more appropriate style the next time I see you in uniform.”</p><p>A brief hesitation and then Edith responded stiffly,</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>She was obviously not happy about being pulled up about her hairstyle.</p><p>“Susan Withers.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron.”</p><p>“Your armband is crooked. Please correct it.”</p><p>“Yes, Matron,” Susan mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, Matron.”</p><p>To Sybil the red-cross arm band they all wore barely looked crooked at all, confirming her suspicion that Matron had been looking for an excuse to pull them all up for something.</p><p>“You will all follow me, please.”</p><p>Nervously they obeyed, tottering after the stern woman who was in control of them for the foreseeable future and quickly found themselves inside one of the ward tents. Every single bed had been stripped for some unknown reason and piles of fresh linen rested upon each.</p><p>“A well-made bed is essential to a well-run hospital,” Matron began, motioning for Sister Pendleton to step up to the bed nearest to her. With no further prompting their immediate superior got to work, quickly and efficiently making up the bed to a perfect standard. And she made it look so easy… “Sister Pendleton is showing precisely how it should be done.”</p><p>She was finished in less than a minute and the bed looked absolutely perfect.</p><p>Sybil could predict what was coming next.</p><p>“And now you,” Matron announced, confirming her suspicions. “You have two minutes.”</p><p>Following her words the tent became a flurry of activity, each of the young women hurrying to the nearest bed in order to get to work. Sybil followed the procedure they’d been taught as best she could in the time limit they’d been given, her hands trembling from the nerves she felt. When she had first been shown how to make a hospital bed it had been something of a disaster; she’d only just managed to get into the habit of making her own bed to a semi-decent standard by then, let alone folding the edges of the sheets under the thin mattresses into perfect corners. Edith and Susan worked quickly and efficiently, completing their task well before the time limit was up. Sybil and Ada worked carefully to get the beds properly laid out but only just managed to finish them off before Matron announced that their time was up. Poor Agnes, however, struggled terribly in terms of working quickly and finished a good ten seconds after their time was up although, thankfully, the bed was made correctly.</p><p>“Well, I can see we’re going to have to work on speed with some of you,” Matron tutted loudly, moving along the beds so that she could check each one closely. Sybil was startled when she produced a ruler from the pocket of her apron to check that the turned down portion of the sheet was the correct size. “I want every bed in the next three tents made within the hour and make no mistake, I <em>will</em> be checking every single one of them myself.”</p><p>It wasn’t a bad start to her nursing career, Sybil reflected, although it wasn’t a particularly good one either. For the first few weeks all they were allowed to do was make beds and empty bed pans, the <em>real nursing </em>being done by the various military nurses at the hospital.</p><p>Thankfully once they had proven themselves capable of following orders without complaint, all of them working hard despite the monotonous tasks, they were finally allowed to begin working on actual patients and were allowed to assist in changing some of their dressings.</p><p>It was only then, with blood on her hands, that she truly began to feel like a nurse.</p><p>~ * ~</p>
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